Daddy Dearest
by Icegazer
Summary: Billy's got a hidden past and would like to keep it that way. However, a phone call sends him sprinting to the town he grew up in to finally put to rest the demons from his past by confronting the one person he hates the most.
1. Default Chapter

**Disclaimer:** All characters and all things affiliated with Buffy the Vampire slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and UPN.

**Summary:** An answer to an Offspring Challenge (off of the now-dead site Tainted Love). Angst filled but with a happy ending. AU.

**Rated:** PG-13

**Warning:** Character death.

**Daddy Dearest**

By: Icegaze

**Chapter One**

"Oh, Daddy Dearest!" A saccharine-sweet voice floats from the lobby of the building and into my office's open door.

I roll my eyes and glance at the clock on the wall. Wow. The girl must have been hoofing it to get here so quickly. School only let out half an hour ago, and while our building is closer to my daughter's school than home is, it is still a fair distance. "In here, Betha."

It isn't long before she's sauntering into view, her arms thrust out in an expansive gesture. She is all of fifteen, but it is evident even now that she will grow up to be a great beauty. Her honey blonde locks cascade in carefully tended waves around her; little fake diamonds are pinned here and there in the fluffy mass. She's wearing a rainbow-striped spaghetti-strap shirt which falls slightly short of touching the waist of her faded blue jeans. On her feet are flimsy flip-flops that slap the soles of her feet as she walks. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

"Delirious. What do you want of me, now?" I'm not fooled. You didn't raise a child without knowing a thing or two or three about them and their manipulative tendencies.

"Daddy! You wound me! Why can't I just be visiting my loving father purely for the sole purpose of expressing my undying affection and respect for him?"

"Because you never visit me unless you want something. And you never talk like that to me unless it's a huge favor."

She flopped into a cushy leather chair in front of my desk and her full bottom lip grew to twice its size in a pout she knew was adorable. "Mom grounded me."

"Yes, I know, sweetness. I was there."

"But Phillip Broder asked me if I was going to be at Club 64 tonight and he's so incredibly drool-material that I said yes. So the future of my social life and possibly even my entire love life relies on me being there."

"But you're grounded."

"Yes, I know that."

"I'm not getting what I'm supposed to do about this. It's not my fault you lied to Mr. Drool."

"Well, I wouldn't be lying to him if you talked Mom into loosening her death grip and letting me go tonight."

"Sugary Sweets. Wonderful child o' mine. We both know that once your mother has said something, there is no reversing her decision. It's like slamming your head against a brick wall."

"Hopefully it's not that painful, honey."

Elizabeth squeaks and whirls around to see her mother leaning casually on the door jam, a smirk on her face. "Mommy! Hi! How long have you been standing there?"

My wife cocks an eyebrow at her daughter. "You're not going to Club 64 tonight. Or any night this week for that matter. You are to be punished for breaking a rule. Real life isn't quite so forgiving as I've been," Elizabeth opened up her mouth, but my wife raises her voice slightly to talk over whatever the teen was trying to say, "so you better get used to things not being fair."

"Mom!" Elizabeth whines. Her eyes fill full of tears and the tip of her pert nose turns a delicate peach color. She sniffles a few times. "I really need to be at the Bronze tonight! If I don't go then I'll never be able to show my face in school again! No one stands up Phillip Broder! He'll hate me and all of his lackeys will make fun of me and I'll never ever get another chance with him again!"

"You should have thought about that before you stayed out three hours past your curfew, and didn't even call to let us know you were okay and still alive. We set these rules to protect you. You know intimately what lurks in the shadows. I thought that would make you more cautious. It seems to have only made you more reckless. So, until you learn your lesson, you're grounded."

"I've learned my lesson! I promise! I'll never stay out past ten ever again – despite the fact that I still think that's way too early – and I'll spar with you to prove that even if I were to come up against a vampire I can still dust his soulless butt in a second and I'll do laundry for a year and keep my room clean all the time and I'll even clean the kitchen floor with my _tongue_! Please! Just let me go tonight! Just tonight! Heck, you can ground me for a month just as long as I can go out tonight. I'll even come home at nine! You don't understand how important this is, Mom!"

Her mother watches Elizabeth rant and rave with a glare. The woman might love her daughter with every fiber of her being, but when it comes to certain things, she's an unforgiving bitch. "No. Vampires aren't something to fuck with, Elizabeth. The later you stay out, the more likely you are to get attacked. Since you are so adamant about not training to become a vampire hunter, then you'll just have to put with the constraints we put on you to keep you safe. If you want to be a victim, we'll treat you like we treat the other victims."

Tears were streaming down Elizabeth's cheeks, but her eyes were furious. My wife, on the other hand is a cold slab of steel, unrelenting and everlasting in her decisions. I lean back in my chair, rubbing my mouth in order to hide my growing smirk. My girls are so much alike that while it's not completely visibly obvious that they are related, right now no one could ever doubt.

At the boiling point, Elizabeth finally explodes. "I hate you! I hate you so much! You get a kick out of ruining my life don't you? You guys aren't the most normal parents, so I have to compensate for your weirdness. Do you know how long it took me to even get the small amount of friends that I have? They're only my friends because I'm pretty. But, they are friends. I'd rather be shallow and have friends than the freak and have no friends. I can go from Miss Popularity to Miss Freaky Freak McFreakerson in a heartbeat. And that's exactly what's going to happen if I don't get to Club 64 tonight!"

And before either of us can demand that she stay, she dashes out of our building and slams the door shut behind with her with a slam that rattles the glass of the door. I can just see the glass shattering to the floor, and imagine the money it will cost to replace a sheet of glass that thick.

My office fills with silence and my smirk fades as I realize I'm the one who has to deal with my wife. Crap. She is seething with anger over the argument, but as minutes pass, I can see that sadness is starting the creep over her features. I slowly count to ten, then I speak. "Lover, I think you were a little to harsh with her."

Her eyes flash fire at me and I realize I should have let her cool down a little longer. She points a finger towards me and I opt to stay in my seat and not come close enough to get that digit poked into my chest. "Don't start with me, Billy boy. She knew what she was doing when she didn't come home the other night. She wasn't late for half an hour, but _three_ hours, Bill. I was a nervous wreck! I was so afraid that I had lost her too."

Okay, _now _is the time to approach her and come away with all limbs still attached. I rise from my desk and go to her, wrapping my arms around her deceivingly slim frame. She remains stiff in my embrace, but I don't let that bother me. "Nothing happened, sweets." I say softly, hating that my words come out tinged with a British accent. I concentrate on pronouncing things like an American. "Our daughter returned home safe and sound. If you continue to treat her this way, however, you're going to lose her anyway. And that's not in a life or death way. She'll move all the way to Alaska as soon as she's legal and you'll never see her again."

She relaxes fully as if all of her muscles turned to liquid. I have to tighten my grip on her to keep her upright. She pushes herself against me her arms wrapping around my torso, clutching me close, desperately. "I don't want to lose her too."

"I know, sweets. Neither do I." I whisper my voice thick, and I sound like a Brit and I hate it.

On the way home, I manage to talk my wife into letting Elizabeth go to the club so that she could stand a chance with Mr. Drool and popularity, but on certain conditions.

When given her new rules, she squeals, hugs her mother, peppers her cheek with kisses, and thanks her a thousand times as she rummages through her closet to find something suitable to wear.

"You are aware that you have to be home by nine, you're now grounded for two extra days for this, and you're going to be my Chore Slave for a week?" My wife says, expecting another argument.

Elizabeth looks up from the floor where she is discarding unsuitable shoes. Her hazel eyes shimmer with excitement that even a year's worth of chores wouldn't be able to damper. "Yep!" She chirrups and throws a pair of strapped high-heeled shoes over her shoulder into the "no way" pile.

I don't bother to smother the amused smirk stretching my mouth this time. Sighing at the hopelessness of getting her daughter to be serious, my wife turns to me and I cup her cheek in my hand. She gives me a soft smile and leaves the room.

As if she was waiting for her mother to leave, Elizabeth's eyes darts to the door and stands. I watch as she bounces over to me, a huge grin splitting her face. She peeks around my shoulder and down the hall, steadying herself by gripping my arms. Sure that her mother isn't in hearing distance, she launches herself against me, arms around my neck and mouth close to my ear.

"Thank you, Daddy. I knew you could do it." She whispers and after planting a loud, messy kiss on my cheek she bounces over to her bed and bends down, pulling a lidless box from underneath where an outfit is laying neatly folded, including a pair of shoes.

I laugh, more than amused at my daughter's deviousness. She whips her head around, looking painfully innocent, though her eyes are laughing as well.

"Be home by nine, sweets. You mother is already going to worry herself into knots as is. You don't have to sleep with her, but I do, so have mercy on a tired old man."

"Nine?" She asks, her voice giving away her intention. I smirk, and shake my head. Merciless and shameless.

"Nine." I say, firm. She pouts prettily, but gives in.

The call wakes me at three in the morning. It is too late at night for me to check the caller ID and actually understand the letters and numbers that identify who is calling, so I just pick up the phone ready to chew out whoever is on the other line if it isn't an emergency.

"Hello?" I grumble, sleep distorting my voice so that I sound more animal than human.

"She's sickly. Dying. She's asking for you."

I freeze. All of the muscles in my entire body clench in reaction to hearing his voice. My heart is thudding a mile a minute, and I feel the blood drain out of my face. The silence on the other end of the phone in deafening, but I can't say anything. I don't know what I could possibly say to him. I haven't heard his voice for twenty-five years. I have put him into my past. The past that I want to forget and never dredge up again.

Then the words actually register, and it the comprehension of just whom is sick and dying that sets me in motion again. I crash the phone on the cradle, unapologetically cutting off our meager conversation and rummage in the closet for an overnight bag. After finding it, I grab shirts and pants and other essentials and stuff it into the suitcase in my hurry to be out of the door.

"Bill?"

I look up, guilty for having forgotten about her, even if for a moment. "Yeah?" I set the bag down on the floor beside me and seat myself on the bed, facing her.

"What's going on? Who was on the phone and what did they say to put a fire under your ass?" She sits up in bed and I quell the urge to push her back onto the bed and command she go to sleep and forget any of this happened.

I have to get to California. _She_'s dying. The one person from my past life that loved me. I have to get back and say my good-byes or I'll never forgive myself for abandoning her.

Panic bubbles up inside of me. Ever since I met my wife, I've been running from my past. I never told her about it because the last thing I needed was to remember it. It was supposed to have died a quick death the second I left the state. If I told her what was going on, the real truth – not just the rose-tinted version our marriage would be in shambles. She would divorce me so fast my head would spin. I love my wife with every beat of my freakish heart. She can never know. I can never tell her.

"It's... I've just got to go, okay, sweets?"

"No, it's not okay, Bill. It's the middle of the night and you're going off to God knows where because of a two second phone call. Please, tell me what's going on." She pauses, her eyes searching my face. "When are you going to come back?"

I don't trust my voice. I shrug my shoulders instead.

"Baby, please tell me what's going on." She asks, a frightened, vulnerable look on her face. She hasn't lived a very cushy life and we had some problems in the beginning of our relationship because she feared getting close to anyone. She needs to know that I'm not abandoning her. But I can't tell her about _that_.

I stand there for a moment, trying to decide if I should ignore the request and damage our relationship or be vague and break the promise I made to myself to never speak of it again. I reason that either way she won't leave me alone until I give her something, a crumb to explain why I'm leaving without any warning and why I don't know when I'll be back.

"My aunt is dying. I have to go." I get off of the bed and pick up my bag again, needing to be on the road, needing to be on a plane. Needing to be in California and holding her hand until the life passes out of her eyes and her body turns into a husk, freeing her soul.

My wife curls up into a protective ball. She doesn't have an aunt. Or, she used to until vampires came and killed her entire family. The reason why she lost her family is the same reason why she alone survived. "Go," she whispers and I nod, closing the door quietly behind me.

I ease the door to Elizabeth's room open and peek inside. She is awake, but just barely.

"Daddy?" she asks, her voice husky with sleep.

"There's been an emergency and I need to go." That woke her up fully. She sits up in bed and, alert, stares at me with eyes that demanded more information. I smile at the familiar expression, my heart wrenching. I walk further into the room, and reach down to caress the line of her cheek as I had done zillions of times since her birth.

"Emergency what? What happened? What's wrong?"

I shake my head at her which makes her brow furrow in confusion and frustration. I can see the fear at the edges, but I don't have time for another stilted, general explanation. "I don't know when I'll be back, sweetest. Until then, obey your mother and watch out for each other." I place a kiss on her forehead and she reaches up to grip the wrist of the hand that is still cupping her cheek.

"I love you." I say as I turn to leave. I hear her echoing me and the lost, concerned emotion behind it.

Having said my good-byes, I rush to my car, start it up and as soon as I can clear the garage door, I speed to the airport.


	2. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** All characters and all things affiliated with Buffy the Vampire slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and UPN.

**Chapter Two**

I'm so tense my shoulders are aching as I pull the rental car up to the house that up until I ran away was the only home I had known. Now my place is back on the East Coast with my wife and child.

Sighing, I turn the car off and sit while the car clicks and clanks in the process of cooling down. I sneak a peak at the house, expecting it to grow fangs and swallow the car and myself whole, but it just sits there. It looks normal, but inside of it I had some of the more horrible moments of my entire existence. The only thing that is keeping me here is the fact that I had some of the more wonderful moments of my entire existence in there as well.

Clenching my gut, I open the door, and snagging the overnight bag from the passenger seat, I get out of the car and walk up the sidewalk to the front door.

I lift my hand to knock, but it opens before my knuckles can hit the stained wood, and there he is, standing there and looking exactly as he did twenty five years ago.

I'm trembling, and I can't stop it. However, I'm not trembling from fear or joy or nervousness. I'm trembling with rage. Pure, white hot, unadulterated rage. I want to plant a fist into the middle of his smirking face, and I'm trembling with the effort to keep from lashing out.

"'lo." I seethe through clenched teeth. His scarred eyebrow lifts at my tone, but nods at me.

Wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible, I shove my way into the house and mount the stairs. He lets me push him aside, stumbling and pulling the door open wider to keep himself upright.

"Hey, no need to get pushy, pet. All you had to do was ask." His mocking laughter follows me as I turn and stalk to the room I know belongs to my Aunt.

As I reach her door, I halt and try to calm myself down so that when I turn the knob to the door and open it, I don't shatter the door on the hinges and make a knob-sized hole in the bedroom wall.

The smell hits me hard when I take in a steadying breath. Home. It smells like home. Twenty-five years and it still smells the same. The scent absorbs into my pores and eases the tension singing through my muscles. The lock I've put on my memories of the past disintegrates under the scent's assault and memories flash through my brain rapid fire, all of them happy and nostalgic.

Suddenly calm and gentle, I ease the door open and poke my head into the room. Another scent that is unique to my Aunt caresses my nose, but it's altered. It is tinted with the scent of death. I've spent most of my current life killing the evil that I had once admired and sought to emulate in my past life. I know the scent of death, and now it's in the scent of my Auntie and all of the calm that I gained with the scent of the house, I lose with the scent of this room.

My aunt is dying. It really is true.

Devastated, and needing to run away and forget everything again, I stand just in the doorway, eyes clouded over with pain.

"Spike?"

His name on her lips snaps me out of it, and now I'm angry again.

"No." I say, curt. I stalk into the room fully so that I can see her and she me.

"Billie." She whispers, just as struck by the sight of me as I am by the sight of her. It's been twenty-five years and while time might have once been kind to her, death had no qualms about distorting her frame and visage. She looked like an old woman lying in the bed and I had difficulty in recognizing her. The Auntie I remembered was fuller; fuller of form, full of life. The woman lying in the bed lacked both, as if it was only a technicality that she was alive – that her fate was death and her body was overeager to start deteriorating. I wanted to close my eyes, but I stared down at her while she stared up at me, tears wetting a trail down her weathered, sickly-colored cheeks.

"Yeah, Auntie. How're you doin'?" I force my feet to take the steps closer to her bedside when what I really wanted to do was run. I knelt beside her and took a claw-like hand into my larger, healthier one and ran my thumb over the veined, sick skin of the back of her hand in a tender caress when I wanted to drop the thing and burn my hand to get the feel of it off of my skin. The claw gripped my hand slightly, then the pressure was gone and it sat in my hand like an inanimate object.

She chuckled, which turned into a wheeze, then a coughing fit, and I could feel a twinge in my lungs in sympathy. Once she had settled down, she managed to choke "I'm doing just super green," in a hoarse voice. She took a breath and I waited. "I'm dying." She glared at me, and fisted a claw in my hand, angry. "What kind of question is that?"

I smiled. There, that was recognizable. Here was my aunt. But, at the same time, dread filled me. This really was my aunt, this thing that had been so changed by time and disease. "Apparently a stupid one."

"Apparently." She agreed, a smile changing her face, making it brighter, though not bright enough. Never bright enough; not anymore. My aunt is dying. Her flame is fading.

"I'm so glad that you came." She says, her face serious, though tears are leaking down her face again.

"He called me," I explain, and she squeezes my hand, knowing how painful that call was for me, even as I realize that he's downstairs and could come up here at any minute. I don't know what I fear more in that moment. Watching Auntie die or confronting him.

"I love you, so I came."

Her eyes get soft and I feel a wash of love for her fill me. "I love you too, Billie. I'm glad he called. It's one of the reasons why I harped so much about it." She smirks and I roll my eyes, knowing she did no such thing. She could always wrap him around her little finger. All she did was demand that he call once and a second later he would be on the phone. Nothing much has changed, as far as I can see. Only me. I'm the only thing that seems to have been touched by time. Well, other than the obvious aging of my Aunt and her soon-to-be death. Depression returns and she frowns at me. "I wanted to say goodbye to you. I don't want to have to come back as a ghost because of unfinished business." Her voice is dainty and disgusted and I can't help but smile sadly. "And I want you to know that I love you, have always loved you, and will always love you. I'm proud of you."

Tears fill my eyes and I take deep breaths to control the need to sob. I look everywhere but her face as I try to pull myself together enough to form a response that isn't thickened by grief.

"I have a wife. And a daughter. She's fifteen and is turning into a real beauty. She's smart, but would rather spend her time obsessing over boys and being popular than grades. She... thinks she's a freak."

"Do you have a picture?" She asks, softly, wanting to see the niece she will never know. I fumble for my wallet, but manage to pull it out and show her the pictures in the plastic sleeves tucked within the folds. She laughs and studies each picture, and I wish I had thought to bring more. I yearn for the photo albums sitting in the living room at home. I know she's yearning for them too. I show her my wife and my daughter and various recent pictures taken for school or for pleasure. Tears are coursing down her cheeks like a river, and I feel that my cheeks aren't all that dry either.

"She looks just like her." She whispers, overjoyed, awed.

"I know." I mumble, and wrap my hand around her claw again.

"You have the look of her too." She says as I pull out a recent high school photo of Elizabeth grinning cheekily at the photographer. Her mother and I are always baffled at Betha's lack of ability to give us decent photos – she always manages to look like she's going to do something wicked like flash the photographer if he doesn't snap her picture soon enough. I place the picture in my Aunt's hand and she presses the photo to her chest, right over her heart.

"Keep it." I say, hoping that we've changed the subject effectively enough. I don't want to talk about her. It hurts too much. It's been so long and the pain has changed; morphed, but it's still there. A wound that has healed over, but never healed quite right.

"Tell me more." She entreats, and I'm more than willing to comply. I tell her about my life since I left. I tell her about the adventure that was my wife, and the birth of our daughter. I tell her about Elizabeth's childhood and my profession and why she thinks herself as a freak – that she has more of a right than the other teens in her class. I don't tell her that I understood how Betha felt; that I felt guilty because my freakishness was apparently genetic; that because I was who I was, I couldn't give her the proper childhood and teenage life she deserved. I don't want to upset my Aunt so I keep those thoughts to myself.

He comes into the room after a couple of hours and tells me to leave, that she needs her rest. A part of me wants to rebel simply because he has said to do it, but looking at my Aunt and how tired she is – more tired looking than when I had arrived, I accede.

He follows me out into the hallway, wishing her goodnight softly. I glare at him while he closes the door and makes his way to the stairs. Looking back at me, he jerks his head to indicate that I follow and, grudgingly, I do.

"I don't know how long she's going to last." He confides, shooting a glance up the stairs in her room's direction as if trying to gauge if she can hear him. He returns his attention to me and automatically my eyes dip to his collarbone. "You're the first of the family here. Funny. What with how fast you ran out of here a while back." His voice is ripe with mockery and venom.

I glare at his collarbone.

"Even 'bit's ever loving brats aren't going to come until tomorrow."

That's it, I've had enough. I glare up into his eyes for a moment and while he's reeling, I quietly flee down the stairs and into the kitchen. It doesn't take as long as I'd like for him to recover and follow me like a shadow. He leans arrogantly against the doorjamb while I pour myself a healthy portion of bourbon.

He's quiet now, not jabbing me with any of his snarky comments, most likely because he got a nice long look at my face. Not the expression, but my obvious parentage. I'm thankful that he's brooding because his words always seem to slice under my skin no matter how insignificant.

Pointedly ignoring him, I saunter (though a little stiffly) into the living room and grabbing a photo album off of a wall shelf, I settle down on the sofa, my glass of bourbon on the coffee table.

I sigh and flip the photo album open on my lap. I pick up my glass and take a swallow, faintly remembering some of the actions depicted in the pictures underneath the protective covers.

My mum holding me, the both of us are smiling from the depths of the same eyes. It's the one feature that I own that I take solace in. She's wearing a skimpy T-shirt that is tight on her and emphasizes her curves. My child-hand is clutching the cloth above one of her small breasts.

Me grinning like a loon in a diaper, his big clunky black boots, and his leather jacket. Mum in the background wiping tears from her eyes. I was told years after the picture that I dressed myself up like that and when he tried to reclaim his stuff, I threw a temper tantrum.

Mum again, but this time caught in the act of feeding my chubby face. I'm not a large part of the picture, which is something that is a reoccurring theme in most of the albums. My father loved my Mum a lot, and everything he did was proof of that fact. This time she's wearing a black T-shirt that is loose on her - I recognize it as one of my father's, and she's wearing nothing else but a pair of black knickers. Her hair is up in a ponytail, wisps curling into her face, framing it delicately. The look she's sending the camera is irritated and amused at the same time.

"Inn't she beautiful?"

He's been in the foyer, in my peripheral vision the entire time, but somehow I had forgotten him for a moment. I can't help the reflexive flinch I feel at his voice. His voice spurs in me two conflicting emotions: love and hate. The love isn't so strong, but it's instant. The hate is overwhelming, however, easily overshadowing the momentary flash of love for the man behind me.

"Yeah," I say, not bothering to turn around or acknowledge him in any other way. He snorts and saunters into the room. Then, to be confrontational - like always - he sits in a chair right across from me. I could have continued to ignore him if he had chosen to sit on the sofa beside me.

He lifts up his boot-clad feet and slowly clunks them onto the coffee table, making a great show of plunking first one then the other on the glass table, just within my vision. Ah, what grace and manners! Auntie would have flipped and yelled at him if she saw him. But Auntie is lying upstairs in her bed, dying. I hate him even more.

"So, nothing to say to your dear ol' Dad?"

"I have no father" I say, through clenched teeth.

"You bloody well do, Junior." He instantly retorts his voice firm and whip-sharp.

I take a deep breath to remain calm and unaffected. He lapses into silence and I can only hope he'll remain so for the rest of my visit.

"She really was beautiful." He says, his voice thick with emotion. My heart clenches and I try to keep my eyes dry. "Like sunshine. Bright, sensual and it bloody hurts when you get too close. Everything about her was beautiful."

I bite the inside of my cheek as I feel my eyes, nose, and throat prickle dangerously.

"Except for her name. That didn't really inspire poetry. Really, I don't now what Joyce was thinking when she named her Bu-"

I slap the album closed with a bang, throw it onto the cushion beside me, and, glaring him into silence, I stand up. He stands up with me, his expression livid.

"What, going to run away again? It too much for you? Too much pain, suffering, and melodrama you want to curl up and die? Why did you run away, baby? Why didn't you ever come back to visit? Why didn't you ever write, ever pick up the bloody phone and give us a ring? 'Bit missed you something awful, did you ever think of her? Did you ever think of the family you left behind when you turned tail and ran off like a coward? I thought you were stronger than that, William."

I see red the moment that name slips from his lips. That isn't my name. That will never be my name. It's his name. His shroud that he wrapped around me the moment I was born.

"Don't call me that name!" I roar and throw myself at him. He doesn't expect it and my fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head back.

"That has never been my name!" He staggers backwards, trying to dance away from my flying fists, but I've been fighting vampires for a living and while I don't have super human strength I fight dirty. It's the only way I've survived this long.

He falls onto the hardwood floor and I follow him down, kneeing him in the stomach and ramming my head into his nose, breaking it.

"You are not my father, and I am not your son. Your son died the day his mum did. I'm who's left and I don't like you very much." I seethe, and feel the rage twisting my features.

I have paused in my attack to verbally thrash him and he takes the opportunity to gain the upper hand. I curse vehemently while his fist blackens an eye and the breath is knocked out of me by way of the wall rushing to meet my back.

Chuckling low in his throat, he touches his tongue to the roof of his mouth and crooks his finger at me, beckoning.

He lets me punch him in the face, and while he's recoiling I push past him and lunge for the stairs.

"Oh, I'm not done with you yet, luv."

That's the only warning I'm given before I'm not only face down on the stairs, but sliding down them as well, towards him, towards my most hated enemy. The stairs are anything but forgiving as I slide down them, feeling their blunt edges press into and grind my muscle and bone as he pulls me by the ankle. I wait until he stops reeling me in to grab a better hold of me to lash out with my leg and kick him in the face. However, this time he anticipates it and catches my flying leg, pushing it aside.

He picks me up and throws me into the living room. I'm thankful I land on the couch, but not quite so thankful I land on the photo album as well. The sharp corners poke into my back, reminding me of the fact that I'm no longer seventeen and as able to take one of his beatings.

"Getting a little slow there in your old age, William."

I growl, then scream a battle cry as I rush him. We stumble into the dining room where I pin him to the bare dinner table, and punch him repeatedly in the face. He reaches up, grabs my shoulders and smacks his forehead into my nose. I stagger backwards, my hand covering my abused nose while it drips onto my white sleeveless undershirt.

He watches the blood. I sneer at him. He notices my expression around my hand and looks unrepentant. He knows what he is; he's fine with it. He loves being a monster. He revels in being a soulless demon walking around in a human corpse drinking the blood of the innocent. In fact he frequently boasts his being a vampire. My father is a bleeding vampire.

"Too bad that chip in your noggin' won't let you eat me. I wish you would. Then I could haunt you for the rest of your miserable unlife," my words are mumbled, but I know he understands me. To piss me off he watches the blood dribble through my fingers and plip on the wood floor, licking his lips hungrily. I storm off into the kitchen for a pack of ice and paper towels.

He follows me.

"It's been so lonesome without you here, William. Your Aunt, she's a riot, but I hate being around her. She's dying."

"Why not just put her out of her misery and eat her?" I mumble as I rip a paper towel up to twist and stick in my bloody nose. I pull my shirt away from my chest to inspect the damage then attack the blood with a sponge and cold water.

"What is bloody with you and me eating people?! I can't eat humans! I've got a chip. It won't let me. What part is not computing?"

I don't bother to answer. I'm too afraid a lifetime of hurt and pain would spill out if I say anything else. And then he'll have won. He'll know that although I'm nearly forty-five, there's still that little boy inside of me in desperate need of his father's acceptance and love.

" 'Sides. I'd never do that to Little Bit. I love her too much."

"You can't love. You're a monster. You have no soul." I don't know if I mean the words, but it sure sounded like it when they came out. Good, I hope that hurt him.

He's silent. Finally. Thank God.

I push past him to return to the living room and retrieve my things. I wasn't going to stay downstairs anymore, no matter how much I hate knowing that Auntie is in the other room slowly slipping away. No, now I am going to hole up in the guestroom, hearing Auntie cough and moan for her husband, for my mother, for my father.

Or at least that's what I plan. My father has different plans and he isn't the kind of man who gives in easily. He slams me up against the wall next to the stairs, his vampire face on. His jaw tightens as the pain the chip brings him for hurting humans electrocutes his brain. He even shouts painfully through his teeth, but his grip never falters.

"I loved her, I did. I loved your Mum more than I loved myself, my own undead life. I would have put my unlife on the line for her. I did. Over and over I saved her tight little ass, but she still died."

"Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't you have died?"

"I wish I had. There isn't one day that doesn't go by that I don't think about her. Remember her. I close my eyes and there's her face just staring at me, smiling. I sit for hours and just think about what she smelled like, what her voice sounded like, what she felt like. I remember all of the times that we made love like wild animals and I can hear her pant, her moan, her calling my name out as she slides over the edge. I remember our first time. I remember our last time. I remember making you."

He pushes away from me and then falls down onto the steps, his vampire face sliding off to reveal the hurt, vulnerable human face staring blankly at his hands, fingers curled towards the palms, his fingernails still painted black. I slide down the wall quietly until I'm resting on the stairs as well. It's odd how comforting it is to know that he will never change: that he'll always remain the same - the one constant in my life.

"She was the light to my darkness. She was the right to my wrong. She was the Slayer. We were supposed to have danced to the death. Either kill or be killed. But that wasn't our dance. I tried to help her live as long as she possibly could. Did you know that I've killed two Slayers? I couldn't kill her. Oh, I tried. But she kept kicking my ass. She never dusted me, though. Dropped a bloody organ on me, but never staked me. I asked her to. I even tried to dust myself." He snorts wetly then wipes at his running nose and leaking eyes.

He takes a deep breath, steadying himself, then lets it out in a short burst. "You know, you're special." He announces, looking me straight in the eye

I raise an eyebrow at the change in his monologue. He stares at me, his expression intense.

"You've got her eyes."

I know this. I've been told this zillions of times while growing up. I've seen it for myself in pictures. Big, wide, hazel eyes that change color with whatever we wear. I've even got her natural hair color - the same color as Auntie's hair. She's not really gone. She's living inside me.

"Vampires aren't supposed to be able to have children." He announces, once again on track.

I snort harshly. "Yet, here I am."

"Well that's a bit of a long story."

I wait silently for him to continue, not willing to admit that I want to hear this. His head cocks to the side as he looks at me, and then a slow, genuine smile pulls up the edges of his face. He shakes his head and the soft smile is gone.

"Your Mum died. Acutally, she's died three times. The first time she was killed by the Master, but was brought back to life by CPR before too long. The second time around she was killed by Glory and Red cast a spell to bring her back. She'd been dead for one hundred twenty seventy days. But something happened when she was brought back - she was brought back different. She wasn't fully human. I could hit her without the chip going off. But she smelled the same, walked, talked, acted, and was the same. I didn't notice anything was different until I hit her good and didn't get my brain fried. We found out that because her body was reanimated by Red's magic, she wasn't just a human anymore. She wasn't a demon either. It was that little piece of magic that was dormant inside of her that allowed us to make you."

"What?" I can't believe this. I mean, yeah, I get the whole brought back from the dead, not human thing, but what did that have to do with the fact that vampire semen is dead semen and therefore can't impregnate a live egg? It's the same thing as shooting blanks. In fact that's what vampires did: shot blanks.

"One night we were talking 'bout us, the future, what we could and couldn't have, and of course kids came up. She mused that she would have liked to been able to have one, and I mused that having a little me running around in the world before I was turned might have been nice. Even if my line had died out in the next generation, it would have been nice to know that the line didn't die with me. The conversation went on to other things, but in the backs of our minds we were thinking 'bout it. And at one point there was a very intense wish in one of us, at least, to have a child. So intense it triggered the magic inside her and created you: her egg, my seed, and Red's magic."

"So then why am I human? Why aren't I a vampire-human hybrid?"

He rolls his eyes as if I am being incredibly dense. "I'm a demon in a human corpse. That doesn't affect the DNA. It's like a man losing his arm then having a child - the kid's going to have all his digits just as it would have if the father still had his arm."

We don't say anything after that. I'm digesting what I've been told, he's reliving the memories of Mum. I'm kinda jealous. I wish I could have more memories. I wish I could close my eyes and see her smiling at me. Remember the sound of her voice, the smell of her. I remember the warmth. I remember the love. It's a human thing. Humans move on, humans grow up, continue living their lives and change. Demons don't change. It's not in their nature to be able to have emotions or change. He is able to obsesses, be infatuated, but love? He's about as demony as it gets. He'll never forget. He'll spend his last days, whenever and if ever that is, with a memory of her as acute as the moment she left us.

I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but right now, this very moment I wouldn't mind a solid memory or two of my mum. I was only ten when she died. Not too young to not know her, but not old enough to have a normal childhood without her. I'm forty-three now. That's a long time to maintain a crystal clear memory. But here he sits, mourning her, missing her. Poor sod.

It's nice in a way. I know that she's getting her dues. She's properly missed here - he's doing enough missing for the entirety of the state and then some. No one in all of history is missed as much as Mum, and it's all because of him. I hate him. Or, at least, I'm used to hating him. He makes it so easy to hate him. I'm surprised Mum was patient and loving enough to put up with him for as long as she did. I don't remember her being too patient.

Auntie's voice calls out from her bedroom, beckoning him. He calls after her, his voice soft and reassuring, telling her he'll be there in a bit, no nothing is wrong, we are just talking.

"I'm not stupid and I'm not deaf. I know what fighting sounds like. You were beating on each other."

That startles a laugh out of me. He mumbles to himself as he lets himself into her room and shuts the door behind him. I hear them talking through the door, but its only sound, muffled.

I sit on the stairs and stare at the banister. I've been running from him my entire life. Well, a good portion of my life, and all of my adult life. I've got a wife and a cute daughter. They know nothing about him. They think he's dead - well he is. They think I'm an orphan, which is what I feel like sometimes. They had never known of my Aunt until I left for California.

When I was little I used to pretend I was him. I developed an accent - his. I stole his duster and wore it or slept on it. I slicked my only-slightly-wavy hair back with Vaseline and puffed on candy cigarettes. He let me try a sip of his blood once, when Mum wasn't looking. That was one thing that didn't stick. Mum refused to let me dye my hair peroxide blonde, though I argued long and hard that both of them dyed their hair, why couldn't I? However, Mum-logic came into play and she grounded me with no answer to my question other than a shouted "because I said so."

Then Mum died, and I realized who and what my father was and suddenly I didn't want to grow up to be like him anymore. I started to hate him and what he stood for, and then when I was 100% legal in all 50 states of America and stomaching the hatred was just too much for me, I ran. Ran as fast and hard as I could. I settled on the other side of the continent and met my wife, married, had my daughter and would have continued to live blissfully ignorant of what my father was doing if Auntie hadn't gotten sick.

I heave myself up and shuffle into the living room where my glass of brandy is, spilled all over the couch from our fight earlier. I flip the pillow and cushion over to hide the damp stains and then make my way into the kitchen for a refill.

Changing my mind, I put the glass in the sink and take the bottle of brandy up with me to the guestroom.


	3. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** All characters and all things affiliated with Buffy the Vampire slayer belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and UPN.

Chapter Three 

It is disorienting to wake up in the old house. I flop over, flinging an arm lazily over the area that my wife usually inhabits, but the lack of body jolts me awake. I grunt and sit up in bed, seeing that I'm not at home. For a panic-stricken moment I can't remember how old I am. Then knowledge rushes in to keep me sane and I'm left shaken and no better off. The depression returns and I hang my head, arms draped over my bent knees.

After mustering up enough energy, I heave myself up and peer in the mirror to see how much damage I can do to make myself presentable. Auntie's son and daughter are arriving today and this will be my first time meeting my cousins. I want to make as good impression as I can, all things considered. "Hi, I'm your cousin. We never met because I hate my father and am too cowardly to stay in the same state. But you already know that, don't you?"

Sure, yeah. That'll wow them. So much for the wise, cool, older cousin. I'll look like a moron AND a wimp.

I itch my upper lip with my thumbnail and consider my battered face thanks to our fight last night and the stubble shadowing the lower half of my face. He doesn't have stubble. Not for the first time I wonder whom I got my thick beard from.

Shaven, combed, and dressed in casual, but respectable clothes, I brave downstairs, hoping the day has knocked him out for the count and I won't have to put up with him today.

No such luck. I momentarily contemplate beating a hasty retreat and spending the day holed up in the guest bedroom, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction. Instead I square my shoulders and walk into the kitchen where he is, of all things, making breakfast.

He has always been an odd vampire. I've only known one vampire in my life – I dust all the others – so I don't have anything to compare him to. But, vampires are supposed to be creatures of the night, evil and all that. Feeding off the blood of the innocents for sustenance... not pouring blood on eggs like it's gravy.

And suddenly my appetite is gone.

"That's sick." I say by way of greeting and sit down on one of the stools at the island in the middle of the kitchen. His equally bruised face twitches and he lets out a grunts and I try to hide my reaction. I grunt! He can't grunt! That's it, I'm not grunting anymore.

I try to pay attention to something other than him, but I've managed to pick the stool exactly across from him and like children and TV, I watch because he's the only movement in the kitchen. He's picking at his food. I refuse to be concerned. Vampires can't starve to death. Unfortunately. I don't care, anyway.

"She's worse," he informs me, and my stomach plummets to the floor. Good thing his blood'n'eggs killed my appetite because now I couldn't have gotten anything past the lump in my throat if I tried.

"Soon?" I ask around said lump, trying to mask it. He hears it, I can tell by the slight tilt of his head. He doesn't look at me, though.

"Yeah. Today."

My hands are trembling. I curl them into fists, shove them in my pockets as I stand.

Silence descends. He plays with his soppy red eggs, and I shift from one foot to another, restless. The doorbell rings. I nearly sob with joy for the distraction. I race to the door though there is no need – he doesn't even look up from what he is doing – and steady myself with my hand on the doorknob.

'My cousins are sour looking' is my first thought.

She's been sucking on lemons, and he's in desperate need of stick-out-of-ass surgery.

She brushes past me and into the room while I am still looking them over. She's rail thin – perhaps a beauty when she was younger but that sneer twisting her mouth into a harsh, bitchy line really isn't all that flattering. Both of them are tall though he is taller by a couple of inches. He is wearing expensive clothes and looks to be financially secure. I'm glad I decided against wearing jeans and a tight T-shirt.

Both are trendy, well groomed, and prim and proper. I want to pop him in the jaw he has jutting forward as if begging for that very thing. And I want to flip her skirt. Not for a glimpse at her undies – though I'm pretty sure I know what kind she would be wearing: granny panties – but to see her composure slip up. My fingers itch with it. My fists return to my pockets. I'm sure I look nervous, what with the thin, polite, fake smile plastered across my mouth though it's not reaching my eyes, and my constant movement.

Let them think what they want. I don't think very highly of them either.

"So!" She says, turning her head my way and finally doing the head to toe perusal that might have belittled other men that I can just bet she's been dying to do since I opened the door. "You must be William Junior."

A muscle in my jaw jumps. "I prefer Bill."

"Yes, of course you would."

"What're you doing here?" He asks, putting a supportive hand on his sister's shoulder.

I raise an eyebrow at them. So that's how it is. Family versus the black sheep, huh? "Same as you – saying my good-byes, catching up, letting her know she is loved."

"That's odd coming from a man we've never met before. Why is it that you never visited before, William?" She has her arms crossed, weight on one foot. Her body language screams 'I don't like you.'

I'm glad my hands are in my pockets because they're using that name against me and I'm trying very hard not to give them a reaction. My nails are digging into the flesh of my palm and it helps the red-haze recede.

"If you must know, I hate my father. Unfortunately since he and Auntie are glued at the hip since Mum's death with one comes the other."

Both were quiet, digesting my words. I turned on my heel and walked into the kitchen. He was still there. I wonder how much he's heard.

"The brats here?"

I roll my eyes and step outside into the back yard. The house is full of people I don't want to talk to – I need a break.

The backyard has changed. I stop in the middle of closing the door behind me to stare at the strange sight. It's been turned into a child's paradise. There are swings, a slide, and a jungle gym. All things I wanted when I was a kid but never got.

Then again it's been a while, so I really shouldn't be so surprised to see this. In fact in our back yard there's a swing set for Betha. She doesn't use it anymore, of course, but the whole point of me buying it and putting it together though it was the one of the most frustrating experiences in my life was to make sure her childhood was everything mine wasn't.

I finish closing the door and slowly move to the wooden steps of the porch. Staring at the pseudo-playground, I sit on the stairs and let the memories come.

They hadn't known I was listening at the top of the stairs. They thought that I was tucked in my bed, fast asleep. I had a habit of trailing Mum in secret when she went patrolling. I used to get caught, but now since I'd gotten better at stalking without being detected they thought that I had grown out of the 'phase'

I heard them arguing about her going to fight the newest big bad. Lately she had slowed down, had shown a want to quit Slaying and that's dangerous when you're putting your life on the line every time you fight. Daddy was scared out of his mind and had to protect her more than fight evil.

They didn't know that I knew what was going on either. They had tried to keep me protected from most of the evilest, scariest stuff, but when you life is so deeply involved with evil scary things it's hard.

I knew that Mum was getting tired, and that Daddy was going on overdrive because of it. So, I took it upon myself to help them, protect them like they protected me.

Tonight was the night – they were going to go in with reinforcements and defeat the vampire that had plotted mass destruction, world domination, and hell-on-Earth. Unlike all of the other evil vampires walking around, he was smarter and more powerful. Age and wisdom was on his side as well as a prophecy.

Xander, Anya, Willow, and Auntie Dawn were giving my parents a moment to argue with each other in the living room while they went over the strategy in the kitchen, making sure everything was airtight.

I held my breath as their conversation end. Daddy knows Mum's not going to be deterred so he gave in like he always did. She used the prophecy as her defense. Either they stopped the vampire or the world ended. He couldn't say no to Mom as well as a prophecy, though he was stubborn enough to try.

He gave in with a huge, tortured sigh and my Mum laughed. They left to join the others in the kitchen and I listened to the even more muffled murmur of their voices. I waited until the house was quiet and then I followed, slowly. I knew where they were going so I didn't need to stay so close for fear of losing them.

By the time I arrived, the fight has already begun. I hide in the bushes, watching it, waiting to see if I was needed as another pair of fists and feet to kick some vampire tail. I seek out Mum and Daddy, and am relieved to see they're doing fine. I'm willing to throw myself into battle but I'm only ten and I do know that I have the potential to be a burden instead of help.

I realized too late that someone knew I was there. Only it wasn't one of us, it was one of the bad guys. I thrashed and howled, trying my hardest to try to wriggle free from the vampire, but he'd gotten me good. The only way I could take on a vampire was if I fought unfairly, and the element of surprise was his, not mine.

I curse in futile anger as he threatened me to get the Scoobies to step down and stop fighting. I yell at them when they do stop. They ignored me, though. They though I was too valuable to chance. I stiffened when I felt the vampire's teeth on my neck. I saw a sword flash in the hand of another vampire who was suddenly stood in my peripheral vision and I'm not so fearless anymore. All the rage slipped from my body and fear replaced it. I sought out Mum's gaze to plead with her to save me. And she did.

At the cost of her own life.

The area erupted into chaos after that. I heard my father screaming at the top of his lungs, the others shouting, and I felt a scuffle about me, the give and crush of two people trying to inflict wounds, and then I'm falling, dust coated me, and Mother gasped as the scent of blood filled the air. I whirled around to watch as the vampire with the sword violently twist and remove the blade he stuck through my mother. I froze and the vampire fled, cackling into the night.

Daddy was there, sweeping past me and catching Mum as her knees buckled, face white with shock and pain. They slowly lower to the ground, his hands clutched desperately at her wound. She concentrated on his face, and I could see from where I stood that she knew what we all knew - she wasn't going to walk away from this one.

"You did say you'd be there to watch me when I wanted to dance. You get to have yourself a good day, then."

He sobbed, anguish twisting his feature, tears streaming down his face. "No, never. Jesus, Buffy, not like this. It's okay, baby, Daddy's got you."

They murmured to each other as I watched my breath shallow, my body bloodless and stone still. I was too afraid to move; perhaps if I was still and they couldn't see or sense me then she wouldn't die. The bubble they'd created around themselves wouldn't pop and I wouldn't be left without a mother.

I heard her voice calling my name and I blinked. They were looking at me, and I shuffled very slowly towards her like I was approaching a wounded, wild animal. She smiled as I slowly kneeled down on the other side of her, my small hand hovering over the wound that Daddy was covering with his hand, trying to stem the blood.

I tucked my hands into my lap and turned back to her face. The smile lit up her whole face and I tried to memorize the moment. Her last moment.

"Mummy?" I ventured, voice small and terrified. She reached out a bloodied hand and touched my cheek. I felt her blood wet there on my face, but I couldn't do anything about it without hurting her feelings.

"I love you, Billie. You're such a good boy and you make me proud. Should have stayed home like you were supposed to, but you're half Summers, and we Summers can't obey rules that our hearts don't agree with." I nodded solemnly.

She took my hand into hers, and tucked it against her chest after planting a kiss on the back of my hand. She curled against Daddy, and I shuffled closer with her, my arm clutched so tightly against her. I gently bent closer and placed a tentative kiss on her cheek and she smiled quietly to herself. Like she did when I tried to kiss her awake in the mornings.

Mommy went to sleep with both her men surrounding her in a cocoon of love, sorrow, and grief. I gasped as I felt the life slip from her.

Daddy broke.

I watched him as he switched from his vampire face, yellow eyes glaring and vengeful. He looked at me with such rage that I pale. It was as if he'd turned into a stranger, and I was left without a mother or a father. I feared he might reach over and grab me, hurt me just like the other vampires tried to do.

His attention wasn't on me anymore. He'd curled his body around Mum's corpse and he howled, keened, and growled like a feral beast.

I tried to pull my hand and arm free from her death grip to escape them. I could feel her body starting to stiffen, and I gave in and heard my fearful cries drowning in the sea of his suffering.

I blink and my eyes clear. The pain has dulled with time, but not by much. I don't allow myself to think on Mum's death much so I'm still irrational about it. Logically I know that I didn't cause her death, but I can't help but feel that all of it went wrong because of me. Maybe it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't gotten caught, hadn't tagged along...

I stand, and wipe gently at my bruised cheeks, knowing by the wet chill on my flushed skin that I've been crying. Sniffling quietly a few times, I shove my hands back into my pockets and make my way inside.

The kitchen is vacant, and the house is otherwise quiet. I peruse downstairs, guessing everyone is up in Auntie's room visiting. I wonder if I want to go head to head with my cousins again just so I can check up on her, or if I can find the lesser of the three evils and ask him what's going on.

After staring up at the head of the stairs for a few moments, I give in and mount them. I figure the relatives won't snip and bite at me in front of Auntie. Wouldn't want to make her worry or be anxious about anything.

The door is open but my cousins seem to be only standing in the doorway, as if going in any further would mean sudden death. They were carrying on a casual enough conversation. Over a shoulder I see that he is farther in the room, propping himself up against a wall, arms crossed and alternately shooting concerned glances at Auntie and glares at the cousins.

Who are studiously ignoring him.

I snort and surreptitiously shove my way into the room. I don't want to side with him too much so I settle for putting myself between Auntie and her children. I can feel the murderous glowers burrowing holes in my back, but I don't care.

It's physically obvious that she's worse. Or maybe it's a trick of my mind. She didn't seem to be this bad off yesterday when I visited. I crawl on the bed beside her, ignoring the outraged gasps – my guess is they're mad because I didn't take my shoes of before clambering on the bedspread – because my Aunt is looking at me with a relieved, deliriously happy smile.

I figure that she's been stymied by the polite chitchat. I give her a gentle kiss on her forehead and pick up one of her hands, bringing it to my mouth.

"We were just talking about my grandchildren. They had school so they couldn't come."

Of course. More like their parents didn't think a deathbed was any place for a child to play. I know logically (though it's hard to tell your heart this) that death isn't something to fear. Because of the closed-mindedness of the parents, the children weren't allowed to experience for themselves something as natural, though scary, as death. Nor were they allowed to say goodbye. I don't know how close Auntie is to her grandchildren so I don't know if this would bother any of them (or even how many of 'them' there were) so I squeezed her hand slightly in response. She knew.

"I was thinking about visiting the high school, maybe seeing what the Slayer is up to, see how much the school has changed in so long. Or if it's changed at all."

Dawn nodded. "Her name is Anica Gutierez, and she's sixteen right about now. We really don't involve ourselves with her, because he Watcher is a big ol' prick, but sometimes she'll visit the house, try to get to know one of the Slayers that came before her."

I nod and glance up at him, asking if I had time. He doesn't shake his head no, so I suppose I can and press a kiss near her ear, whispering 'I love you.' I dismount and breeze by my cousins who are standing in the doorway in silent disapproval.

"Mother, really! Such language." Her daughter scolds as I take the stairs two at a time. I give a short bark of laughter at her rigidity, and hope they hear me.

Taking the car because I figure it will be much faster – I only plan to visit for a short while because today's 'the day'. I just needed to get out of the house and away from it all for a while.

The principal of Sunnydale High School (rebuilt while I was still in school and surprisingly still standing, though a little battered and bruised like me) informed me of where Anica was; concerned that something was wrong. I shake my head, shake the man's hand and made my way to her classroom.

Not to disturb the class just because I want to say hello (and not wanting to upset her) I wait until the bell rung.

I have no idea what she looks like except for an impression that her name gave me. However, I figure she has a certain, confident, repressed-power feel to her like Mum did because she was the Slayer. I scan the students filing out of the room, searching for her. The surge of students ends, and I stick my head in the room to find a small Hispanic girl, long black hair brushing at the top curve of her rump. She has it – that quiet jaded aura of a Slayer. She doesn't strike me as confident and powerful, but then again she is new to this – Slayers tend to be fifteen when they are called and Auntie told me she was sixteen.

Shyly thanking the teacher she made her way towards the door and me. It isn't until she is beside me that she notices me. Startled black eyes meet mine and I gave her a kind smile.

Her black eyes grow wider and a small tremor shakes her small body.

Surprised and concerned that she thinks I am a threat to her, I stick out my hand. She might be a little suspicious of my less-than savory appearance thanks to my tussle last night. I curse our tempers and try to communicate with my face and body that I'm no enemy of hers. When she tentatively takes my outstretched hand I introduced myself. "Bill Summers,"

Her voice was soft and sweet. "Anica Gutierez. You are her son?"

I nod and her scared eyes become excited. Her smile lights up her face and it draws my attention to a scar I hadn't seen before on her cheek. She notices my eyes' direction and the smile dies quickly. Her head tilts forward and her hair spills over her shoulder to hide her face and her scar.

"My aunt told me that your Watcher is a prick."

A tinkling laugh fills the air, and I blink. She shoots me an amused glance, and I grin cockily at her. "He is. But I have a lot to learn, so," She gave a dramatic sigh, "I'll have to put up with him until he doesn't have anything else to teach me.

I laugh and she angles her body to hint that she wished to walk. I fall into step with her.

"So," she ventures, "What is it like to be the child of a Slayer?"

Shrugging I shove my fists in my pants pockets and shuffle my feet. "Okay I guess. I don't have much memories of her – she died when I was ten."

"Yeah, I know. Dawn told me. Is Spike really your father?" her voice was full of awe and I cringe.

"Yep."

"How is that even possible? Vampires are just animated corpses, aren't they?"

"I've been told magic was involved." I say, my voice guarded and hoping that she got in clue that I really didn't want to talk about this. She glances my way, her face full of concern.

"I think that your mother was very brave; a very good Slayer. I greatly look up to her, though my Watcher uses her as a bad example. She lived the longest of all of the Slayers, and I think that makes for something."

I smile at her attempt to sooth my feelings. "I'm glad."

We walk together in silence for a while.

"My aunt is dying – that's why I'm here. I wanted to meet you, say hello and thank you."

She glances at me, so surprised she didn't bother to hide her face anymore. "Thank you?"

"You put your life on the line every single night, fighting that evil, keeping the world safe and end-of-the-world-free."

"I'm the Chosen One," she says, shrugging off my words. "It's my job – what I'm supposed to do."

Her words strike home. This child knows her fate. She knows that she'll die soon and her fight is not only against evil but to live one night more. My respect for her increases ten-fold. I quickly set a tentative hand on her shoulder and give it a squeeze before retrieving my hand.

"I need to return home." I say and she nods gravely.

"Tell Dawn that I say hello. I'll sneak by during my patrol." We grin at each other.

"Don't get caught. I don't want you getting into trouble for visiting."

She gives a haughty laugh, throwing her head back, black hair spilling like water over her backpack and back. Her black eyes flash in challenge. "I never get caught. I have a lot to learn, but I know enough."

I like her. I nod at her in farewell and make my way to the entrance of the high school.


End file.
